


To offer (and maybe even to have)

by Chyrstis



Series: We could make a home out of this [3]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Eden's Gate Cult, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chyrstis/pseuds/Chyrstis
Summary: It’s late, and long after the fire’s started to burn itself down, John finds himself sitting next to it. Still there, and thinking far too much about the figure snoring next to him.[Companion Fic to I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I'd like you)’s Ch. 5]
Relationships: Sharky Boshaw/John Seed
Series: We could make a home out of this [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798033
Comments: 15
Kudos: 26





	To offer (and maybe even to have)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finefeatheredfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/gifts).



> To finefeatheredfriend - Hope you don't mind the added gift, and I can't thank you enough for making this possible to begin with!
> 
> Finishing up [I won't ask for much](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039543/chapters/52599754) left me with a lot of little ideas. Post-fic ones mostly, but also a few that also could've happened over the course of it, and this was one of them, taking place after the end of [Ch. 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039543/chapters/53036896). 
> 
> Getting to try out John's POV here was equal parts nervewracking and fun since I haven't spent anywhere near as much time in his head vs. Sharky's, but it felt right to have this come from his perspective instead, and it feels great to be able to write in this universe again. There'll be more for sure!

It had been a long time since he’d seen the sky like this. Dark and clear enough to point out the stars scattered above.

Usually, John’s nights were spent at home, switching between the work that had been placed aside on his desk, and what was pulled up on his computer when he’d inevitably wake up and find himself too wired to fall asleep again. With too many thoughts, too many tasks, worries, and memories to push past. And in worse moments, to shove down, work around, or ignore. 

But this night was different. He hadn’t planned for this, or expected any of this. In fact, he’d hoped things would’ve turned out differently. He didn’t want to be angry, hurt, or bitter. He’d held onto that for so long before, he was sick of it, but he knew those feelings well. Like old friends. Comforts, almost.

Easy to slip into, but damaging in many ways, great and small, and he’d seen the results of them. Been the cause, and found that even the most generous of people had a limit. A time when even they would no longer grant him forgiveness, not after the lines he kept on crossing.

Nights like this when he’d find himself unable to deal with Joseph’s questions, or his careful prying, he’d storm out, and find himself down by the river. Spending hours walking by its side, letting the water wash that anger away. Drown it even, so he could come back to his senses and head back with a clearer perspective on things. 

And he had intended to do just that. To head down to the river, searching for that sense of calm he’d wanted. No, needed.

Instead he turned to…this. An evening spent here, welcome on the property of the very person he’d blackmailed into working with him to begin with. That he’d found during one of his walks to calm himself; that he’d dragged up from the river on the verge of drowning himself, all while his boathouse burned to ash behind them.

He’d threatened him. Not hinted at, or implied, but done so outright, using that leverage for any menial task he could think of, and lorded this fact over him. Enjoyed it even, only to have the satisfaction of it all chipped away at day by day.

With every board and nail placed. With every section restored. With every moment spent talking instead of working. Requesting his help, instead of ordering.

All of it coming together, piece by piece.

He ran his thumb along the green bandage covering his finger. Rubbed his fingertips together as he considered it, and couldn’t even begin to explain how he’d managed this.

Glancing over his shoulder to his left, John took in the figure slumped in his lawn chair.

Earlier, Charlemagne had dragged his hat down over his face, saying to give him five, only to be out seconds later. Softly snoring away, comfortable enough to do so even with the straps of the chair digging into him, it was the quietest he had ever seen him. No longer vibrating in place due to refusing to be still for any stretch of time, he was at peace. More so than the time he’d snuck up on him before down by the river, and John tilted his head as he continued looking at him.

Many a night had to have been spent by the fire like this. With him fast asleep next to it, all too comfortable resting a mere few feet away while the bonfire kept on roaring. As if it wouldn’t dare touch him, not even for a second.

John had caught the fascination that had danced in his eyes earlier. How he’d admitted it comforted him even, watching as the fire grew in intensity as it burned everything around it.

It was a curious thing; having that kind of an affinity for it, but it had been a constant for him. In those moments when he’d had little else to rely on, it had been the one thing he could turn to, and _that_ John could understand. That sense of relief. That one thing that made everything else better.

And he’d wanted to share it, not hide it. To let him see what he could take away from it, and find. To offer it up, as if it were nothing at all to do so.

Strange, indeed.

Taking one last look at him, John glanced at his watch. The hour was one he was well familiar with, and much later than he’d intended to stay at all. He’d meant to check periodically, but let it go. The work he’d meant to do he could just as easily finish once he was back at the ranch.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he shook him gently.

He didn’t want to shock him awake, but put a little more force into the motion when it became clear that Charlemagne wasn’t a light sleeper. No, he wasn’t responding to any of this, and seemed content to keep on ignoring him as he snored away.

John frowned, and raised his voice. “Charlemagne? Charle-“ he sighed, and got up out of his seat. “ _Wake up.”_

Snapping his fingers in front of him, Charlemagne jolted up. “Who-what-“

His attention stopped right on him, fingers right by his face, and John set his hand back on his shoulder. “There you are.”

“Shit, how was-was I out long?” He wiped a hand over his face, scrubbing his eyes hard with the heel of his hand. “It’s not morning, right?”

The time on John’s watch told him it very well was when he’d checked it, but it was nowhere near late enough for the rays of the sun to start coming out.

“No, but I would’ve let you keep on sleeping if not for this burning right next to you.”

“Damn, man. That?”

Looking past him as he stretched, Charlemagne’s next few words were swallowed up in a loud yawn. It lasted close to a minute, making John’s eyebrow climb with each second spent, but there was no mistaking the incredulous look Charlemagne gave the bonfire once he was done.

“Care to repeat that?”

He waved a hand at it dismissively. “Shit, that’s nothing.”

“I’d rather not take that chance. And with how late it is, I really should be heading out myself.”

Jumping to attention, Charlemagne swung an arm out towards his house. 

“Hey, you need a place to crash, just head on in and take the first spot you can find. Or you wanna go back? That’s cool too. Take either, I don’t mind. Wherever you wanna go, just holler, and we’re fucking going.”

John gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve already done enough.”

“Yeah, sure, but it’s a bro thing. It’s what you do, and I think we’re bros, right?” He peered up at him, leaning back in his seat to pull it off, and grinned wide when he caught the faint smile John wore. “Yeah, thought so. Anyway, crashing’s cool. Anything you pick, I’m fine with. And next time we do this, there’s this real tricked out combo I wanna try…”

His words were well between drunk and exhausted now, and it was a miracle he could be understood at all. Words and gestures bled into one another as Charlemagne imitated a large pop, and the debris that rained down to the ground after.

But John listened. Kept his attention on him as he rambled from one idea to another, throwing everything he had into making sure John could understand was running through his mind this very moment.

And it was midway through this that he looked up at him. Stopped so abruptly that John wondered if there had been a repeat of their time spent with Affirmation; if he’d been smeared with engine grease or dirt when he hadn’t been paying attention. But the delight that settled in Charlemagne right after cut that thought short.

Like he was genuinely glad John was still focused on him. Paying attention to him. _Listening_.

To be in awe of him for so little was almost insulting. But here he was doing just that. Staring fondly at him all the while, hoping he was holding onto every word. It was-

_“You know this is all for you, right?”_

John glanced away, and stepped back.

That’s when he caught Charlemagne’s chair pitching back. Leaning a hair outside of what he’d been allowed so far had been a mistake, and John tried to get behind the chair to catch him. The strain wasn’t pleasant, but once he’d set the chair safely back on solid ground – and Charlemagne was no longer holding onto him for dear life – he was able to breathe a little easier.

How the man ever survived one of these bonfires alone was a miracle, considering he’d nearly stumbled into his own pit twice-over trying to show him something. Or had nearly set half of his arm ablaze gesturing towards any large sparks.

Just because he wanted to show him something ‘cool’.

It was odd. Just how much he sought that attention, all while blessedly unaware of just how close John had already been watching him in turn.

Handling accelerants that close to an active fire warranted it, but while he’d never admit it out loud, he was the perfect figure to watch. Never idle, or boring, Charlemagne was always up to something. It almost became a game at times, wondering just how long he could go unobserved while Charlemagne sank his own attention into the task in front of him – or the story of the hour he was set on regaling.

It made every task they walked out to accomplish three times as long, and twice as involved. But as one time turned into two, then three, then four, he found he didn’t hate it, resent it, or dread it.

He was fine with it. Completely, without question.

And having that pointed out to him a couple of weeks back during dinner nearly made him choke outright.

* * *

“That much time was flying, eh?” Jacob chuckled.

John set down the fork and knife, and folded his hands together.

“Let me explain how an evening with Charlemagne goes. There is a task. One I set out to complete, and if it is work at the boathouse, we work at the boathouse. However, some weeks another task requires my attention, and if the help is available, an invitation is made, accepted, and implemented. He’s generally prompt, but after he arrives, fifteen to twenty minutes will be lost simply guiding him towards the task in question. He’ll stop, point out the sky, the nearby trees, if I’ve left a specific tool nearby, if there’s another skunk in the area, or Affirmation, even. _Anything_. There’s not a single topic where he’ll be left without a word or opinion to share, and I’ll be left to listen to all of them. Each and every one without fail _every single time.“_

As of right now, he could come up with at least four instances of this. That it was already that high was absurd, but that was beside the point.

John had a reserve of stories to share, barely touching on the ones he’d hear when Charlemagne wasn’t trying to con him into setting off that damned fish.

That he’d done so twice already was infuriating, but not as much as when he would hum the tune to him for the next ten to fifteen minutes after that. Whistle it loudly whenever John would step close enough to inspect his work, only to make him immediately search for the most minute problem with it.

Hissing at him to ‘try again’ wasn’t the perfect revenge, but it was satisfying enough to move on from. At least until the next would inevitably pop up.

“Then, we start working. This should be fairly straightforward, but with every potential challenge or problem mentioned, comes a proposed solution. Charlemagne will offer it, attempt to explain it, _illustrate it,_ mention offhandedly the last time he tried it was a spectacular failure, and then offer to use that method anyway. After reassuring me that the last accident that put his car into a tree hadn’t been his ‘zip-tie and fly’ fix. No, it had been his cousin’s home-made alcohol.”

John’s knife screeched across the plate as he pressed down on it, the sound sharp enough to make even him flinch, and he let up on it.

“And I haven’t even covered the time he discovered his brakes had gone out. Mid-drive, just about to drift down the nearest hill, with me sitting _right next to him_. …He was proud of that one. Said something about it being his best recovery yet, and I wanted to reach over and-”

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, John went back to cutting his meal, well-aware of two sets of eyes on him as he stabbed his fork down. Unclenched his jaw, then took the bite he’d been waiting for.

Joseph wasn’t as pointed with his stare, but Jacob shook his head after a few minutes, and smirked. “I think you like it.”

His throat seized mid-swallow.

* * *

Joseph had been on his feet in seconds, ready to clap him on the back in the middle of his coughing fit, and the mortification of it all was stifling. Enough for him to leave the room once it was clear, and enough to spend the rest of the night working furiously on Affirmation, just to avoid having to contest that point.

Because if he had to put a word to it all here as well, strange still applied.

Yes, that was exactly what it was, and as he crouched down to grab for Charlemagne’s lost hat, he held off on questioning it. At least for now. There were other things that required his attention first, he mused, depositing the hat back onto its owners’ head.

Letting him fumble at it briefly, John raised the brim of Charlemagne’s hat high enough to be able to look at him. Charlemagne’s eyes widened at first, but the shock didn’t last. No, he came out of it with a brilliant smile on his face, one he held onto long after John let go of him.

It made him pause. Long enough to realize he was staring right at him again, and felt his mouth twist into a frown. “You look pleased with yourself.”

“Nah, just…called it right before.” John’s stare sharpened, and Charlemagne’s amusement grew as he gestured between them. “That kind of shit? Saving my ass? That’s a little ride or die right there.”

All he’d done was keep him from hitting his head on the ground. Hardly anything spectacular, and yet he was looking all the while like he’d swept him away from some grand disaster.

“Ride or-“ John let the sentence trail off, and scoffed. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Ride or die! You know like, I’ve got you.” He pounded his fist against his heart. “Always, no matter what. It’s a pledge to be there for someone, to promise you’ve got their back, and once you make it, you don’t break it.”

“Always?” John asked, the question slipping out.

“Hell yeah, man. Always. That’s what being a bro’s all about. …And if you haven’t seen any of those movies, we’re totally watching them now.”

John opened his mouth, ready with a laugh, but stopped. Swallowed it back, as Charlemagne continued to watch him expectantly, and found himself left with nothing to argue or fight with. Just the feeling he was set on dragging up in him, again, and again.

Sighing, John held out a hand to him. “Let’s get you inside.”

Charlemagne didn't hesitage to take it, but John wasn’t entirely prepared for the amount of effort needed to hoist him up – or for the way Charlemagne sagged against him once he was on his feet. The mix of alcohol and smoke was almost overwhelming, but as John stepped back and considered him, Charlemagne gave him a thumbs up. Two, in fact, that he couldn’t seem to steady what-so-ever.

“Come on now,” John huffed, taking Charlemagne by the arm. “Before you collapse and I have no choice but to drag you inside.”

A silly smile was plastered onto his face now, one that didn’t wane as he slung an arm around John’s shoulders. “Shit, man. I’d help.”

“Then help me by lifting your feet one at a time high enough to keep from tripping.”

“Dude, I could like, seriously electric slide my way inside. Zero help needed, but always appreciated.”

He let go with a wink, and John’s eyes widened as he nearly fell sideways into the nearby woodpile, but he recovered. Cleared his throat as he regained his footing, and set his hands on his hips. John watched him closely, his eyebrows drawing together as Charlemagne stood there frozen in place, and worried for a split second he’d fallen asleep on his feet. The look in his eyes was glazed at best, and John took a step forward towards him.

“Charlemagne, what are you-“

“No rushing this, amigo,” he replied, his head now bobbing. Whatever rhythm he was following was clearly one John had no hope of ever tuning into, and Charlemagne let more of it dictate his movements. “I got a process to go with here.”

“You have a…process.“

“Yeah, a process. Gotta get good and limber first,” he said, rolling his shoulders before planting his feet to twist back and forth. “Nice and loose. You miss that, there ain’t no doing this shit right.”

John gave up, and gestured towards the front steps. “Very well then. Show me.”

That made his grin falter. “Hey, I mean, uh. You’re looking at it…?”

“Am I?” Charlemagne stopped, his arms still raised by his sides, and John swept his eyes over him. “As you mentioned, this process of yours takes time, but I’m afraid we’re short on that at the moment. So, if you would get on with it, maybe? Right along the path, up the stairs and through your front door?” Tapping at his watch, John gave him a pointed look. “Preferably before the sun rises.”

Blinking at him, Charlemagne remained rooted to the spot. Long enough for him to think for certain he’d fallen asleep for certain this time, but the moment John lowered his watch and moved to get him, he saw his throat work as he swallowed.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, man,” he replied, grimacing a bit as color rose in his face.

Arching an eyebrow at him, John crossed his arms, and stayed put.

No longer held down or in place by that invisible force, Charlemagne started tapping his feet. The light snapping of his fingers followed after that, along with a few murmured words. Most of it was nonsense; a mix between actual words and his attempts at vocalizing any of a number of instruments, but there was a familiar note to it all. Just not one John had any hope of recognizing as Charlemagne began to sway in place, his arms moving counter to every other part of himself.

It was a process. He’d been right about that part. But as to what exactly John was watching, he still couldn’t say. Just a moving riot of limbs, swinging about a point that was now singing off-key to himself, and enthusiastically, at that. 

He was suddenly grateful for the fifteen-foot clearance between them. Any closer, and his chance of taking an elbow to the face went from probable to guaranteed. 

But the steps Charlemagne used to guide himself bodily towards the front stairs of his home held a loose rhythm to them that was worth watching. Not all of his coordination had failed him, a small miracle in and of itself, and John realized he was seeing a relic of the past. Something dragged from obscurity, kicking and screaming before him, as Charlemagne Victor Boshaw did indeed attempt to moonwalk his way towards the house.

Not on skates, mind you. But only with his own two feet. One step at a time, as he dragged them across the ground, doing so in sheer defiance of the situation and difficulty facing him.

John held his hand to his chin as he continued. Held his breath even, as he waited for him to hit the bottom of the staircase. But when he did, he climbed the first step. Then the second. By the third, John was confused enough by his genuine good fortune to gape at him openly, because the longer he kept up with this, the more he _improved._

“Strange,” he murmured. “That’s precisely it.”

When he reached the top, Charlemagne didn’t even hold back his whoop of success. It was loud, and he raised a fist in triumph.

“Told you I had it. No joke,” he said, pounding a fist against his chest, “you just gotta trust the process.”

Leaning back against the door with a smirk, Charlemagne yelped as it swung inward with his weight, and he disappeared from sight.

John double-timed it after him.

Just past the doorway he found him sprawled on the floor. His hat once again lost, John didn’t bother searching for it. Just focused on confirming that the fall he’d taken here hadn’t been a nasty one.

Rolling over with a groan, he stared up at the ceiling as John crouched down next to him and lightly touched his shoulder. “Yo, we gotta stop meeting like this.”

John raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t.”

“Yeah, I guess you pulling my ass out of the river wasn’t like this, and you don’t wanna kill me now which is cool too, but-“ he let out a breath, and glanced up at him. “Least last time I was laid out like this, you had that pretty blue thing going on.”

Both eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“Like, you know. You, with your shades and shit. Your eyes are really something else, man.” Looking up at him with a dazed smile, he snapped out of it a second later. “But I kinda almost broke my ass, which sucks ‘cause how do you heal that? Sleep face down? No driving, squatting, or…fuck, what if I need to-”

_Pretty blue thing._

_Don’t._

John set his jaw as Charlemagne kept on going, laughing midway through the conversation he was effectively having with himself, and John reached for his arm to pull him up.

This time when he leaned against him, John tried to better shift his weight so he could brace for it. Kept him upright as they navigated past the scattered clothes skirting the doorway, and felt his lip curl when he nearly put his foot down on an open pizza box by the entrance to Charlemagne’s room.

Whatever horrors were waiting in there he’d have to endure, but Charlemagne was sagging against him once more. Mumbling in his ear about minding his collection of sorts, of what John didn’t know, and didn’t _need_ to know, and was all too glad to finally open the door to a relatively normal bedroom.

A cramped one. The walls pressed in, the clutter around it making John tense as he brought Charlemagne with him, but he relaxed once he deposited him onto his bed.

There he rested, face down with part of his hoodie dragged up his back, only to flip over after a minute with a grunt. Each movement took more and more effort now, and when he finally dragged himself upright to sit and face him, he looked exhausted.

“Thanks, man.” Rubbing at his face, he yawned. “Maybe you had it right outside.”

“About?”

“It being too late. Or maybe too much. Think I hit my limit after the sixth or seventh, but sometimes-“ he started pulling at his hoodie, trying to drag it up, “-it don’t hurt to take a breather for a bit.”

He pulled at it again, and it came up and over his shoulders, his head disappearing into the green fabric. But after another pull, it didn’t budge. Just kept him half-covered, catching on his undershirt, and settled for tugging at one of his sleeves, blind.

John’s lips quirked up when he soon abandoned it for the other. Still pulling, still trying anything other than reaching for the hem of his undershirt. By the time he dropped that as well, John no longer tried to hold back any of his growing amusement.

Tapping his fingers on his elbow, he leaned against the doorway. “You seem to be having a bit of a problem.”

Charlemagne shook his head, and the hood swayed with the motion, swinging back and forth. “Nah, I-it’s all working here.”

“Are you sure?” He nodded this time, making the hood flap. “Completely? Because it looks like you might need some help.”

“No, it’s-“ Another pull was made at his hoodie, and a string of muffled words followed. Likely obscenities. “Well, yeah. Kinda?”

“What was that?” John held a hand up to his ear. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you…”

“Yes, I need help, okay?” He dropped his arms, and huffed. “Fuck.”

Satisfied, John stepped forward, lightly kicking the scattered clothes before him to the side, and reached for him. Grabbing the part of the hoodie caught around his head, he gave it a firm tug and Charlemagne’s head popped out. Finally freed, he gave a happy sigh.

“Better?” he asked, smirking at him before stepping back.

“Yeah. It’s a lot better with the whole being able to breathe, and see, and shit.”

Meeting his eyes was harder for him this time. Charlemagne would hold the gaze for a few seconds, then drop it. Then bring it back up again, only to skitter off to John’s left.

By the time he’d decided to look at him after all, he’d pulled the rest of the sweatshirt and undershirt off, and run a hand through his hair. The motion only messed it up further, making it stick out in every direction as he peered up at him. Shy, almost.

It was an interesting look on him. Endearing even, if he was willing to acknowledge it. And thinking that surely did, so he let the opinion stand.

“But thanks. For being a pretty cool guy, you know?” John scoffed, and Charlemagne waved his dismissal off. “Nah, I mean it. It’s been a good night for me. It’s not every time I get to do this with anyone other than my cuz, and I know things sucked earlier, so…I hope you’ve had a good time too.”

John looked at him, at how he was rubbing the back of his neck while almost fidgeting in place on his bed, and softened his approach. “Wasn’t that your goal?”

“Fuck yeah. Could’ve had more if I’d known you were coming, but I’ve had people up here have what I thought was a bomb-ass time, to the point that I’m thinking it’s fucking on until they run out on me, so-”

“So,” John said, cutting in, “you can rest easy tonight, knowing that before this I’d been set on going to bed furious and frustrated. Now? I’m concerned that the only thing I’m going to see once I close my eyes is your dancing.”

“My dancing?” He pointed a finger towards himself. “Aw, come on. You’re shitting me.”

“Your performance has been seared into my memory. Watching you flail around for dear life only to make your way up the path to your front door and collapse through it, well...” John heaved a heavy sigh. “For better or worse I think the damage might be permanent, and I dread to think what I’ll have to do to forget it.”

He snorted loudly, but that did the trick. Brought his grin back, warmer than ever, and John couldn’t help but return it.

“I fucking warned you, man. Shit’s too powerful to be taken lightly, but I get it. You had to know. Had to see it to believe it, right? Can’t do much to convince you otherwise without proof of that, since I know that’s how they do it in lawyer-land.”

“Word of mouth can only take you so far,” he replied. “Allows for too much…embellishment. So, proof in this case can be a very powerful thing. Though for you I would say it’s-”

Charlemagne flicked his eyebrows up and down at him with a grin. “Pretty fucking dope?”

“Almost _too_ powerful. I don’t think any hearsay’s going to damage that much, so witnessing that little spectacle firsthand might not have been necessary at all.”

That brought him back down, his expression crestfallen as his shoulders slumped.

“But my word does have merit,” John said, speaking quickly. “I promise that I’ll ensure any hypothetical questions about you and your ability to perform under pressure will be answered as truthfully as possible.”

“You swear? ‘Cause we don’t gotta do that whole pinkie promise shit, but-“

“I do. You have my word on that.” John held a hand to his heart, and made sure he was looking right at him. “And to go back to our previous conversation, yes. I did enjoy myself here. It’s only fair to give you proof of that as well, even if it’s only verbal.”

Though as to whether or not Charlemagne was going to remember any of this by this point was debatable. Exhaustion and alcohol were never a smart mix, and he’d indulged in both liberally.

But the confession was worth making. Just for the way he brightened again, only to try and temper it with a cough. “Cool. It’d uh, suck to keep you here only to have a lame time, you know?”

“It was far from what I’d call lame,” John said, his tone edging towards fond. “Memorable, yes. Dangerous? More than I would like to acknowledge, and I’m sure the Sheriff’s Department would’ve had a few violations to note, but it was well worth the risk.”

Charlemagne nodded, content with his answer as he fell silent.

He’d started fiddling with the bracelet wrapped around his wrist, and John let his attention jump to the tattoo on his forearm briefly before making his way back up to his face. Let himself study it even if he wasn’t able to see him as well as he would’ve liked in the dark room, and didn’t look away when Charlemagne met his gaze.

“Sure you don’t wanna stay?”

This time he wasn’t shy. He was earnest, painfully so, and that stunned John long enough to realize he was staring at him openly.

_No._

That word he bit down on, shooing it out as quickly as it appeared. But he’d let it in, and hated the way it started to color this moment.

This was a kindness. His generosity that Charlemagne kept on offering freely of himself to him over and over, and that was all there was to it.

His _kindness,_ not himself, and that reminded him just where the line had been drawn. Where he’d drawn it earlier himself, while content to see just how long this night could keep on lasting.

Anything else was foolish at best.

John nodded, the gesture stiff. “Yes, I’m…fine.”

Disappointment settled over him, lingering for a good minute before giving way to a smile. “Then I’m out. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

John started to back out of the room. He caught Charlemagne’s sloppy salute just as he closed the door behind him, and took in a deep breath.

_This was a mistake. Why would you ever-_

Stamping down on the thought, he took out his phone and pulled up Jacob’s number. As late as it was, his brother’s insomnia, while nowhere near as debilitating as it used to be, had his easily beat. He’d be awake, or on the edge of it.

It took only a few seconds for the call to go through. “ _There you are. Wasn’t sure if you were going to call or not.”_

“I didn’t go far, so there’s no need to be so concerned for my safety.”

_“Tell that to Joseph. Had to get him to hold off on heading after you once you left. Told him you were fine enough wherever you were, long as Boshaw didn’t do his usual thing.”_

A pang of guilt hit at Joseph’s name, and John frowned. “I see. …Ill make sure to visit him in the morning. What I said was-“

_“Hey. That’s between you two. You don’t have to spill your guts to me if you don’t want to. But he’ll be glad to see you down at the compound either way. He always is.”_

“All right.” Relief washed over him, and he smiled. “Thank you.” 

_“Yeah, yeah. So, did he?”_

John’s eyebrows drew together. “Did he what?”

_“Boshaw. He do his thing?”_

It took a few seconds for the change in topic to register, and John clenched his jaw. “ _No._ He did _not.”_

His tone was sharper than he would’ve liked, and knew Jacob had to have been raising an eyebrow at him on the other end. Getting defensive now wasn’t helpful, but given what he’d told his brothers, and Charlemagne’s reputation around the county in general, the question had been a fair one.

And his irritation at contributing to it didn’t need to be directed Jacob’s way.

_“Huh. Just figured he might’ve. Can’t blame me for guessing whatever the hell it was you both got up to.”_

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John took in a breath before answering. “He went out of his way to do me a favor. Nothing more. And I would’ve returned in time, but Charlemagne’s in no condition to be on the road, so here I am. Asking for a favor in turn from you, brother dear.”

_“All right, point made. Where are you?”_

“His home. Just down the road from…” John jogged his memory, and gave the name of the farm Charlemagne had mentioned earlier. The one they had thankfully not pelted with any of his fireworks. “Does that work?”

Jacob chuckled. _“He kick you out?”_

“No, he-“ John paused, and held it a second too long. “No, he didn’t.”

He heard something shift on the other side, then a snort. _“…Be there in fifteen.”_

Jacob hung up soon after. Left alone, with nothing but the quiet, John took one last look at the closed door behind him, then made his way towards the front.

With the remains of the fire flickering outside, he needed to put it out.


End file.
